Guardians of The Flame: To Home And Ehvenor (The Guardians of the Flame #06-07) by Joel Rosenberg Page A
Authors: Joel Rosenberg
Tags: Fantasy
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might be a clue that the rest of us were traveling under false colors.
The man ducked his head. "Begging your pardon, but—"
His wife shook her head, quickly. "No."
"I saw them," he insisted.
"How many?"
"Half a dozen, perhaps more. Wolves, yes, but . . ."
"But what?"
"There was something else," he said.
Andy's gentle smile broadened. I think she was trying to look reassuring, but she came off as amused. "And what might that be?"
He gripped at the air in front of him. "It looks like a wolf, just like a wolf, but it isn't." The words came fast, as though stumbling out. "I saw; I know. It isn't. It is larger, it moves strange, it isn't a wolf, it just looked like one."
I gave it a try. "What do you mean, it wasn't a wolf, but just looked like one?"
His fingers twitched in frustration. "It didn't move right. It bends in the wrong parts."
"A wolf that bends in the wrong places," Tennetty said. "Doesn't sound like a major problem to me." Tennetty dismissed them with a gesture; they filed back into the hut, although we could feel their eyes on us.
"It was a day and a half ago," Ahira said, sotto voce. "Wolves can cover a lot of territory in a day and a half. If they want to."
I wish I'd taken that zoology class. What was the dynamic of pack wolves? Did they have a territory, or—
Andrea knelt next to a pile of turds, one hand in her wizard's bag.
"Hang on a moment," I said, irritated. "I don't—"
"If you can come up with a better way to find them than with a location spell, Walter," she said, "then let's get to it."
"I'm a fairly good tracker," I admitted. Traditionally, it's the job of the nobility to protect the peasants, whether it's from invading raiders or wandering wolves. We weren't the local nobility, not really, but we were sitting in for him.
"Not good enough." Tennetty shook her head. "In a few days, if they're holed up and not on the move, you should be able to find them. In the meantime, not only do they fatten themselves on the local cattle, but we have to sleep during the heat of the day and hunt through the night."
"On the other hand, Andrea's supposed to keep her use of magic to a minimum. It's not healthy—"
"—for you to be talking about me in the third person," Andy said, her smile wide, but not particularly pleasant.
Ahira held up a hand. "We are all tired. But let's think it through." He ticked it off on blunt fingers. "We've got no problem with having wolves around, as long as they know enough to stay away from people. These don't." He added a finger. "They aren't going after cattle because other game is scarce: it isn't. They have a taste for beef, and aren't frightened enough of humans. So they have to go. It's cool in the woods—we'll duck off the road into the woods and pitch the sleeping tarp, everybody gets some rest, and then a hot meal, and then we hunt late in the afternoon."
He frowned. "With the location spell."
* * *
No point in putting it off any longer. The horses were saddled, the guns loaded and lashed into place. My bow was only half-strung, slung over my chest, two dozen widebladed hunting arrows stuck into the quiver on my back. (Yes, stuck—you don't want the arrows falling out if you take a fall.) A flask of Eareven healing draught was strapped to my left calf—my scabbard kept banging into it.
My hand was sweaty where it gripped the boar spear. It's the best hand-to-hand hunting weapon ever invented: six feet of shaft, grip points wound with leather and brass, topped by a long, fist-wide blade. About two feet back of the blade was the crosspiece. The classic crosspiece is just that: a piece of brass intended to hold whatever you've just stabbed at arm's length. Some genius—no, not one of us; we don't have the patent on genius—had modified it into kind of a U-shaped staple, points sharp, but unbarbed. The result looked like a trident with a glandular condition.
Tennetty held four of the horses. They stood prancing, waiting, while Andy, in a ring of
The man ducked his head. "Begging your pardon, but—"
His wife shook her head, quickly. "No."
"I saw them," he insisted.
"How many?"
"Half a dozen, perhaps more. Wolves, yes, but . . ."
"But what?"
"There was something else," he said.
Andy's gentle smile broadened. I think she was trying to look reassuring, but she came off as amused. "And what might that be?"
He gripped at the air in front of him. "It looks like a wolf, just like a wolf, but it isn't." The words came fast, as though stumbling out. "I saw; I know. It isn't. It is larger, it moves strange, it isn't a wolf, it just looked like one."
I gave it a try. "What do you mean, it wasn't a wolf, but just looked like one?"
His fingers twitched in frustration. "It didn't move right. It bends in the wrong parts."
"A wolf that bends in the wrong places," Tennetty said. "Doesn't sound like a major problem to me." Tennetty dismissed them with a gesture; they filed back into the hut, although we could feel their eyes on us.
"It was a day and a half ago," Ahira said, sotto voce. "Wolves can cover a lot of territory in a day and a half. If they want to."
I wish I'd taken that zoology class. What was the dynamic of pack wolves? Did they have a territory, or—
Andrea knelt next to a pile of turds, one hand in her wizard's bag.
"Hang on a moment," I said, irritated. "I don't—"
"If you can come up with a better way to find them than with a location spell, Walter," she said, "then let's get to it."
"I'm a fairly good tracker," I admitted. Traditionally, it's the job of the nobility to protect the peasants, whether it's from invading raiders or wandering wolves. We weren't the local nobility, not really, but we were sitting in for him.
"Not good enough." Tennetty shook her head. "In a few days, if they're holed up and not on the move, you should be able to find them. In the meantime, not only do they fatten themselves on the local cattle, but we have to sleep during the heat of the day and hunt through the night."
"On the other hand, Andrea's supposed to keep her use of magic to a minimum. It's not healthy—"
"—for you to be talking about me in the third person," Andy said, her smile wide, but not particularly pleasant.
Ahira held up a hand. "We are all tired. But let's think it through." He ticked it off on blunt fingers. "We've got no problem with having wolves around, as long as they know enough to stay away from people. These don't." He added a finger. "They aren't going after cattle because other game is scarce: it isn't. They have a taste for beef, and aren't frightened enough of humans. So they have to go. It's cool in the woods—we'll duck off the road into the woods and pitch the sleeping tarp, everybody gets some rest, and then a hot meal, and then we hunt late in the afternoon."
He frowned. "With the location spell."
* * *
No point in putting it off any longer. The horses were saddled, the guns loaded and lashed into place. My bow was only half-strung, slung over my chest, two dozen widebladed hunting arrows stuck into the quiver on my back. (Yes, stuck—you don't want the arrows falling out if you take a fall.) A flask of Eareven healing draught was strapped to my left calf—my scabbard kept banging into it.
My hand was sweaty where it gripped the boar spear. It's the best hand-to-hand hunting weapon ever invented: six feet of shaft, grip points wound with leather and brass, topped by a long, fist-wide blade. About two feet back of the blade was the crosspiece. The classic crosspiece is just that: a piece of brass intended to hold whatever you've just stabbed at arm's length. Some genius—no, not one of us; we don't have the patent on genius—had modified it into kind of a U-shaped staple, points sharp, but unbarbed. The result looked like a trident with a glandular condition.
Tennetty held four of the horses. They stood prancing, waiting, while Andy, in a ring of
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